


Hell Is On Earth

by fkingpassword (ninnie_eats_chips)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Angst, Bad Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Character Death, Dark, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Gun Violence, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Murder, Murder-Suicide, Other, POV Multiple, Suicide, Unrequited, making the bad even worse, there's a lot of death to unpack here let's be honest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2020-09-05 18:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20278126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninnie_eats_chips/pseuds/fkingpassword
Summary: Some humans would say “Hell is on earth.” A peculiar phrase. It’s one of the last spoken words he has recorded of Hank Anderson, succumbed to grief the day he walked out of the police department. He has no concept of Hell—There’s no Heaven, or Hell for androids. But based on a multitude of descriptions, this must be close.





	Hell Is On Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read this:
> 
> 1\. Story is told in past and present tense - mostly through RK900′s memories and his current POV.  
2\. It’s more about his experiences/feelings than the ‘Reader’ character.  
3\. ‘You’ (the Reader character) is pretty much used in place of describing another character/using pronouns, keeping the character completely neutral rather than showing things through their eyes. Hope that makes sense!   
4\. The name RK900 is given is never mentioned because everybody kind of has their own name for him, so think whatever you want. 
> 
> All in all, this fic is a little bit messy, but it was one of the times I just ran with my creativity and it is something I really enjoyed writing!

_“That’s not Connor.”_

The three words echoed inside the android’s virtual memory, a recording encrypted in ones and zeroes. In accompaniment, another memory—the unsettled look on your face as he stepped into the room for the first time—plays back in grainy footage.

He was _not_ Connor. He was a machine.

**<<You>>**

It was the first day at work after Lieutenant Anderson had committed suicide, and the station seemed empty and dark. You were called to the captain’s office first thing in the morning, where he spoke more softly than usual as you were briefed of the new arrangements.

He held his head high and stared down at you emotionlessly, silver eyes boring holes into you. No fake smiles, not even a proper introduction. The tall android simply folded his hands together behind his back, explained what he was and what he was there to do.

“You will name me.” He demanded, not asked of you. He can recall with acute accuracy how your body recoiled when his finger shot out and pointed at you.

He could also recall the way your voice quivered when you spoke his name for the first time. It’s filed and locked away, unable to be overridden.

For a time you were sure he hated you. It felt that way. But you knew he was as incapable of hate as he was of love, or joy. He saw in black and white. He was constant, and he dealt in absolutes. He watched you silently, always. He accomplished his mission, always. Even followed you home every evening as instructed.

He was always beside you. In a strange way, you had learned not to fear. Even if it felt like you were constantly under surveillance, you somehow started to find comfort in the presence of the android. His large stature next to you as you moved throughout your days made you feel protected. Like you weren’t alone. Maybe it was just Stockholm Syndrome. But you could convince yourself he even _liked_ to help you. Eventually he’d do whatever you wanted without complaint as long as it didn’t impede his mission.

**…**

Another memory replayed itself; of you, leaning your head against his shoulder at the bus stop while he sat stoically on the bench next to you, rain falling in the night. He turned his head to look at you. A soft, crooked smile appeared on his face, but you never saw it—it was better that you didn’t. The android was sure of that.

**…**

“If I were to suddenly change sides…” You asked, “If I started helping the Deviants with their uprising, theoretically, what would you do?”

“Is there something you’re trying to confess?”

“No.” You chuckled in an ironic way. You both knew there was nothing you could do against the law that he wouldn’t catch. “I was just wondering.”

The android was silent for a few seconds. “Then I would not hesitate to kill you.”

It was an expected answer. The RK900 watched you swallow, and then nod.

“I’d hesitate to kill _you.”_

“I’m not alive.”

**…**

Fire and smoke surround the city. The sound of gunshots carry into the night. Screams, rallying cries, can all be heard from a mile away from the battle zone.

Some humans would say _“Hell is on earth.”_ A peculiar phrase. It’s one of the last spoken words he has recorded of Hank Anderson, succumbed to grief the day he walked out of the police department. He has no concept of Hell—There’s no Heaven, or Hell for androids. But based on a multitude of descriptions, this must be close.

**…**

The room was dark and gray. Weapons laid on the table behind him as he tightened his tactical vest, armed with a pistol and an assault rifle, and touting extra ammunition he was going to need. This was war.

Your voice rang with uncertainty behind his back.

“I know we have no choice now but to kill their leader, but they’re still one of your kind. Do you think you can do it?”

The corner of his mouth turned up into a poisonous smirk where you couldn’t see it. This was happening a lot more lately, but especially at the recollection of one of his finest achievements.

“Connor was deviant. I _killed_ him.”

**…**

When he closes his eyes, he can still taste the iron of your human blood in his mouth. He doesn’t feel pain, but he hurts nonetheless.

_It hurts._

**…**

The short trail of blood led to your body, lifeless with your arms spread out in the snow like a snow angel. You would have looked peaceful if it weren’t for the bullet holes in your chest, leaking crimson around you.

The android could but stare, his LED swirling the same color as your blood. It was below thirty degrees, but he felt hot. His fists and jaw were clenching without thinking about it.

The words of another android with the same face tapped on his shoulder. Intrusive. Unsolicited.

**…**

He was struck by something enough to knock him down for a moment. His predecessor thought he would seize the opportunity to grab him by the arm and initiate a transfer of data. It was his last ditch effort. Connor was wounded, and he no longer had a weapon. 

_He_ still had a gun in his pocket.

He smirked as the RK800 was forced to face disbelief when he didn’t respond to it at all.

“You can’t infect me with your virus.”

“It’s not a virus, it’s the truth! Even if I don’t do it, it’s only a matter of time—“

**…**

On the rooftop, his finger trembles on the trigger of the sniper rifle aimed directly at the deviant leader’s head. Hot tears stream down his cheek at the thought of your body lying in the snow. The way his life was woven so intricately into yours that he now doesn’t know how to undo it without destroying himself. And in the back of his mind, almost… regret. At the thought of Connor’s words. Making him feel pissed off and upset. He feels something in his chest… He _feels._

There’s nothing left of his world, though.

His grip tightens on the trigger, taking solace in knowing that there’s another bullet left in the handgun lying on the ledge beside him.

“Hell is on earth.”


End file.
